


Be My Sidekick

by araliya



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 15:29:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15866445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araliya/pseuds/araliya
Summary: Early!CC consisting of silly, oblivious boys.





	Be My Sidekick

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics from Walk The Moon’s Sidekick.

_(I often wonder why the things that I want are so hard to find but-)_

 

It’s midday and Darren’s at Chris’ trailer doorstep, lunch bagels and diet cokes in hand. The door is closed and the heat is  _sweltering_ , but just to be sure, Darren knocks. (Although Chris would have a million reasons to keep the door closed, he doesn’t  _really_ want to consider the one where someone else is in there with him.)

 

A cold (and irrational, completely irrational) flush of relief floods through him at Chris’ muffled voice, shouting, “You can come in!”

 

Darren pushes the handle down with his elbow, goods teetering in his hands like juggling balls, and tumbles into the trailer. He’s so focused on getting the food to the coffee table and  _not dropping anything_  that he completely misses Chris’ half naked body, radiating mirth on the other side of the trailer.

 

Well,  _almost_ completely misses. Darren looks up at the last moment to see Chris in a baggy grey t-shirt and _apparently nothing else_ , eyeing him in amusement.

 

“I wasn’t dying of hunger, Dare,” he says, turning around to lay out a pair of terrifyingly skinny Kurt jeans. “You didn’t have to sprint.”

 

And Darren asks, “Are you wearing anything under that?”, because Chris is  _Chris_ , and in the short time they’ve known each other he’s never really worn anything that shows off his body too much, and Darren never thought he’d get to see so much of Chris’ smooth, pale skin in his  _life_ , and-

 

Chris quirks an eyebrow and lifts his shirt, revealing a pair of running shorts. Very  _short_ running shorts. “Um, yes?” he asks.

 

While Darren hasn’t known him long, he still knows him  _well_ , and right now there’s the slightest undercurrent of self-consciousness in his voice. Yet the only thing Darren is able to think is,  _fuck_ , and he must be imagining things because Chris’ eyes start to gleam a little. He pops open a diet coke and takes a long sip, holding his arm out to lick up a drop of condensation that’s dripped down his wrist.

 

The asshole actually seems to be  _basking_ in Darren’s momentary muteness.

 

Chris sets the can down, slowly and carefully and- how does  _anyone_ do something as unremarkable as drink soda and make it look like  _that_? Darren forgets he hasn’t given Chris an answer until he picks up a pair of intimidatingly bondage-style suspenders, tossing them for him to catch.

 

“I’ll be needing help with these,” Chris says lightly, and Darren thinks,  _fuck_.

 

***

 

_(friendship up against the ropes)_

 

Darren is… frustrating.

 

It’s not that he isn’t the sweetest, kindest, most infectiously happy person Chris has ever met, but he’s also-

 

 _frustrating_.

 

He doesn’t want to perpetuate the stereotype of gay guy smitten with the hopelessly straight and utterly oblivious best friend, who sends messages so mixed it’s like sifting through  _sand_ , except there’s no hiding that it’s exactly what Chris is, and  _exactly_ what Darren does.

 

Chris would like to say his gaydar is accurate but it’s really not, and with Darren, he might as well be deaf and blind. If only the guy would stop  _touching_ so much; little brushes of fingertips down arms, a palm on his thigh as Darren leans over to talk to someone, grabby fingers playing with Chris’ hair like a  _child_ -

 

Actually, scratch that. Maybe Chris doesn’t mind  _that_ much. He thinks this right about the time Darren makes a shot for the basketball hoop, rising up on the balls of his feet, shirt riding up just enough and baring the  _slightest_ sliver of skin-

 

Yep, Chris is  _that_ cliche.

 

“Could you love him?”

 

It’s Diana from beside him, smiling softly.

 

“Darren and I aren’t a thing, Di.”

 

He realises too late what he’s said; Diana’s smile has gone from knowing to  _smug_.

 

“I never said his name,” she says, holding her hands up in surrender. On the court, Harry grapples for the ball, tossing it to Heather who makes a graceful swoop for the basket, ball tumbling through the net in the effortless way only Heather can manage. Darren spots them at the deck chairs and waves, smiling brightly.

 

Chris groans, sliding his sunglasses down over his eyes, and Diana  _cackles_.

 

***

 

_(the one I need could be right by my side)_

 

There’s a reason Darren doesn’t drink around Chris. His tongue is loose enough sober that it would be near  _disastrous_ with a couple of shots down, and  _god_ knows how Chris would react.

 

He won’t know any time soon though, Darren thinks peevishly, since there’s another guy out there with Chris, putting his hands all over him like he’s entitled to it- like he  _owns_ him.

 

“If looks could kill,” comes a voice from next to him, “they’d both spontaneously combust.”

 

It’s Kevin, sipping his drink, arm wrapped around his boyfriend as they watch the night unfold in amused interest.

 

“Just the one,” Darren replies blackly, chasing down the rest of his glass and shuddering a little.

 

“Woah,” Kevin says, following Darren’s eyeline to the platter of shots coming their way. He watches warily as Darren takes one, and then two. “Slow down, dude. I don’t think the way to impress Chris would be to throw up on his date.”

 

“That’s not his date,” Darren declares through gritted teeth. At least, he’s not is he? Chris hasn’t told him yet, and Chris tells Darren  _everything_.

 

He expects Kevin to look unconvinced, but he’s not- instead he’s smiling at the olive in his drink.

 

“What?” Darren asks, tossing back another shot. This time it goes down easier, and now Darren’s not so sure whether or not it’s a good thing.

 

“Nothing,” Kevin says, sharing a glance with his boyfriend, who rolls his eyes exasperatedly. He’s Spanish and doesn’t say much, but when he does communicate, it’s through distracting hand gestures and emphatic eye movements. Darren envies them, just a little.

 

Darren looks back to the dance floor to see that Taller-Than-Five-Foot-Eight-McMuscle-Man appears to have vacated the premises, with Chris flushed and alone in the middle of the throng of bodies.

 

“Go get ‘im,” says Kevin.

 

“ _Tonto del culo_ ,” says his boyfriend.

 

Darren takes a breath and weaves his way through the people on the dance floor. Now that he’s moving, everything is bright and blurred around the edges, and Chris soon comes into his vision. He looks surprised to see him.

 

“Hey!” Chris says, over the thumping bass. “I was expecting you to be James.”

 

“James?” Darren asks, although he’s pretty fucking sure he knows who James is.

 

Chris points to Taller-Than-Five-Foot-Eight standing at the bar, very obviously flirting with the bartender.

 

“He’s flirting with the bartender,” Darren states.

 

“It’s James,” replies Chris, “he flirts with anything that breathes.”

 

Darren is suddenly reminded why he’s there. “Will you dance with me?”

 

Chris eyes him beadily. “You want to dance with me.”

 

“That’s what I said?”

 

Another song comes on, some 2007 Nelly Furtado, and there are whoops as more people join the floor. Darren finds himself pressed up close to Chris, so close that he can see the shadow of his reflection in his pupils.

 

“Okay,” Chris agrees, smiling slightly. Darren hopes it’s an  _I’m agreeing because I’m into you_ smile and not an _I’m agreeing with you because you’re drunk and also a sad idiot_ smile.

 

“What are you thinking about?” asks Chris, close to his ear. He’s slung his arms around Darren’s neck, loose and as easy as breathing. Darren holds tighter onto Chris’ waist.

 

“Nothing.”

 

Chris raises one perfect eyebrow. It’s another moment where Darren realises how polar they are: Chris is all smooth surfaces polished alabaster-fine, while Darren is rough around the edges like splintering wood.

 

“I just-” Darren tries again, and Chris’ eyes soften. Overhead, Nelly sings,  _you could mean everything to me_ , and Darren could laugh with the irony of it all, except he’s sort of mesmerised by the aquamarine blue of Chris’ irises.

 

Which are now so close, Darren could count his eyelashes.

 

He hears, “you’re a fucking idiot, Darren Criss,” before soft lips are on his, pressing close and drawing the breath from his lungs. Darren’s hand reaches up to card through Chris’ hair and Chris’ hand cups his jaw, and he can’t tell whether the drumming in his ears is the beat of the music or steady tattoo of his heart- pounding  _Chris Chris Chris_.

 

At some indiscernible point, the music fades and cheers rise up at the intro of the next song, and they part dazedly. There’s a second of silence between them before they hear a very loud, heavily accented “ _fucking finally_ ” from the bar. Chris and Darren look to see Kevin snorting into his drink, while the Spanish Boyfriend vigorously gestures at the two of them in an unmistakable  _keep going_ motion.

 

They turn back to each other, and suddenly he and Chris are laughing deliriously, tears gathering at the corners of their eyes. Chris clutches Darren and  _wheezes_ , and Darren can do nothing but relish the feeling of his body under his hands and the weight of his arms looped tight around his shoulders.

 

And then they wipe their eyes and steady their legs and lose their breaths once more.

 

_(why don’t you stay at mine tonight?)_


End file.
